


A Nest of Flies

by headfirstfrhalos



Category: Twenty One Pilots
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Transformation, Everyone is Dead, Extended Metaphors, Fairy Tale Elements, Grim Reapers, Historical, Other, POV Animal, Rabbits, References to Illness, or will be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 00:13:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13088391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headfirstfrhalos/pseuds/headfirstfrhalos
Summary: Death comes-- not for Tyler, but for his closest friend. The reaper has been standing at the foot of Jenna's bed for weeks now and Tyler can't seem to reason with him.But maybe he isn't supposed to negotiate.





	A Nest of Flies

**Author's Note:**

> Big or small,  
> Short or tall,  
> Here's what happens to us all:  
> We go to sleep,  
> We close our eyes,  
> And leave behind a nest of flies. 
> 
> \-- Traditional Canine Verse, anonymous

**I: Fables**

"There once was a sweet little maid, much beloved by everybody, but most of all by her grandmother, who never knew how to make enough for her. Once she sent her a little riding hood of red velvet, and as it was very becoming to her, and she never wore anything else, people called her Little Red Riding Hood."  
  
Tyler rests his head in the crook of Jenna's arm as they sit under the shade of the enormous tree that grows in the backyard. The book is resting in front of him, and occasionally he lazily opens one eye to peer at the illustrations in her picture book. Jenna's free hand rests on his back, stroking him with small fingers as she continues reading, detailing the little girl's mission to deliver a gift to her grandmother.  
  
"Now the grandmother lived away in the wood, half an hour's walk from the village; and when Little Red Riding Hood had reached the wood, she met the wolf; but as she did not know what a bad sort of animal he was, she did not feel frightened."  
  
A shiver goes down Tyler's spine at the mention of the wolf. He had never seen one in his life, but he knew they roamed outside the city limits and in the forest that surrounded the town, and he's glad they live deep within the city where no predator would dare roam. The wolf is smart, smarter than Tyler would like to admit, telling the girl that there was nothing to fear in the forest, and what a lovely surprise it would be if she presented a bouquet of fresh flowers to her grandmother on top of the cakes and wine?  
  
"The wolf went straight to the grandmother's house and knocked at the door. "Who is there?" cried the grandmother. "Little Red Riding Hood," he answered, "and I have brought you some cake and wine. Please open the door." "Lift the latch, cried the grandmother, "I am too feeble to get up." So the wolf lifted the latch, and the door flew open, and he fell on the grandmother and ate her up without saying one word. Then he drew on her clothes, put on her cap, lay down in her bed, and drew the curtains."  
  
Jenna's voice cracks at the last word, and she breaks into a fit of coughs, rattling Tyler's small body as her chest heaves and struggles to take in enough air. He looks up at her, worried, but she scratches between his ears. _Don't worry_. But nervousness bubbles up in his guts.  
  
Tyler hears the squeak of unoiled hinges, and he looks up to see Jenna's mother peeking out the back door.  
  
"Jenna!" she calls as Jenna starts coughing again. "Come inside! You'll catch your death of cold out there."  
  
"Alright," Jenna says. She folds the book shut, carefully lifts Tyler off her lap and sets him down on the grass. She stands with a phlegm-filled sigh and brushes the grass off he dress.  
  
"Go to your hutch, Tyler," she says, "I have to go inside now."  
  
Tyler stares up at her as she leaves, watching the edge of her dress sway as she walks across the yard to the large house she lives in, her mother closing the door behind her. Tyler is left alone in the yard, the sun sinking quickly.  
  
Tyler hops across the yard and into the security of the flower patch before sitting up on his haunches and grooming his ears. He enjoys Jenna's petting, but her hands were oddly clammy today and the dampness pressed all his fur flat. He twitches his whiskers and moves onto his paws.  
  
His home is a strategically-arranged pile of wood filled with dry, sweet hay. Tyler decides to settle in early when he hears Jenna going to bed early as well, the wooden frame creaking as she adjusted the covers. He hears the hissing of the gas lamp as her mother turns it off, and Tyler watches the lamplighters from his hutch as they go from light to light with a little flame on a long stick, turning each one into a little point of light until they drown out the stars.  
  
No one reads to Jenna that night. Tyler dreams of being trapped in the wolf's stomach, dark and empty and burning with acid.

 

**II: The Beast**

Jenna only comes out for a few minutes the next day, and he can tell that her condition has worsened overnight. Her dress is unkempt and her hair is kept loose, and there's a peculiar greyish tint to her skin that Tyler's never seen before. She pets him like she did before, but her hands are shaking and she coughs often. He squirms out of her hands and elects to let her feed him stems of grass, not wanting to encourage the aggravation of her condition by her constant petting motions.  
  
She doesn't come out the next day. Her mother comes to her in the morning, and Tyler can hear her setting down a tray with a bowl full of hot soup for her.  
  
"Can you read to me?" he hears Jenna ask, and her throat sounds hoarse.  
  
"Yes, dear. Keep eating your soup. You were reading 'Little Red Riding Hood', yes?"  
  
"Mmhm."  
  
Tyler hears the creaking of a chair as Jenna's mother settles down and starts to read.  
  
"Little Red Riding Hood, distracted by the wolf's suggestion, was all this time running about among the flowers, and when she had gathered as many as she could hold, she remembered her grandmother, and set off to go to her. She was surprised to find the door standing open, and when she came inside she felt very strange and thought to herself, "Oh dear, how uncomfortable I feel, and I was so glad this morning to go to my grandmother!" And when she said, "Good morning," there was no answer. Then she went up to the bed and drew back the curtains; there lay the grandmother with her cap pulled over her eyes, so that she looked very odd."  
  
Tyler remembers what Jenna had recited to him a few days earlier. The grandmother was still inside the wolf's stomach, and Tyler remembers his nightmare about being devoured. Jenna didn't seem frightened at all. Perhaps it's simply because Tyler is a rabbit, and rabbits have to worry more about being eaten than humans do.  
  
"Oh grandmother, what large ears you have!" "The better to hear you with." "Oh grandmother, what great eyes you have!" "The better to see with." "Oh grandmother, what large hands you have!" "The better to take hold of you with." "But grandmother, what a terribly large mouth you have!" "The better to devour you!" And no sooner had the wolf said it, he made one bound from the bed and swallowed up poor Little Red Riding Hood."  
  
Goodness. Tyler nibbles on a piece of hay in his hutch to calm himself. He can hear her mother turning the page to continue, but Jenna drops her spoon as she's wracked with wet, heaving coughs, and Jenna's mother has to put away the book and fetch her daughter a glass of water to soothe her throat. She orders Jenna to get some rest, and Tyler is left on a cliffhanger again.  
  
A day, three days, an entire week passes without her visiting him in the garden and Tyler is ready to tear out his own fur with worry. Where is Jenna? He can't hear her thundering footsteps as she runs through the hall, nor her warbling voice in the kitchen at breakfast before she goes to school. This is the fifth day without her and nibbling the petunias and counting their stamens has lost its novelty. Unhappy, Tyler tucks his ears against his curved back and sulks in a rose bush. A mother, walking with her little boy, passes their garden and Tyler watches their feet through the leaves and the mesh fence, envious that that boy was out and about while Jenna was not.  
  
He hears coughing, high-pitched from a small set of lungs, and Tyler's ears perk up, concerned. He hates the sound of her suffering. He lopes from the safety of the rose bush across the garden to the window where Jenna's bedroom is. If he tries, he can make it onto the roof of his hutch and peer inside Jenna's bedroom. With great effort, he climbs, stepping gingerly to avoid getting splinters in his delicate paws.  
  
He smells the new paint of the house as he peeks over the edge of the sill, peering behind the closed window.  
  
There's Jenna, hidden by endlessly huge blankets, her blonde hair spilling out over the white pillows like sweet, fresh hay. Her face, usually tan and rosy from all the time spent in the sun, looks pale and bloodless, and Tyler's heart quakes with worry. Tyler wants her to hold him, feel the softness of his fur and the blunt ends of his paws and feel comforted by his presence. Some sunlight would do her good. His nose twitches and he wishes, not for the first time, that he could speak.  
  
Jenna rolls over to face the window, and he can see that she's asleep. He better let her rest. He climbs down from the top of the hutch, wiping off the speck of mud that got on his paw on the way down. He walks to the little dandelion that he had spotted a few days ago. The flower had finally bloomed, and now it was just the right time to eat it. He closes his eyes as he chews through the delicate petals and the milky stem, letting the sun soak into his fur. _Jenna will be okay_ , he thinks, _she's gotten sick before, though never for this long_. He overhears her parents speaking to the doctor and they always say the illness makes her stronger. Certainly she'd be invincible after she gets over this one.  
  
Tyler climbs the hutch again to watch Jenna some more. When looks, he sees that a stranger has appeared in her room, completely silently, standing at the foot of her bed. Jenna sleeps on, unaware of his presence.  
  
He's a young man, older than Jenna but still too young to be a doctor. He doesn't carry a medical kit, either, and he's shirtless on top of that. His bare back is facing the window, and Tyler's sharp eyes can make out the light freckles peppering his shoulders. His hair is curly and short and looks almost as soft as Tyler's fur.  
  
Jenna coughs and rolls over, and the man sighs and turns away from her to face the window. Tyler freezes in fear.  
  
The man doesn't have a chest.  
  
It's as if the flesh covering his chest and the upper half of his torso was peeled away like the skin of an orange. His ribs, bleached smooth and white, are all visible, and Tyler can see his pink human heart and lungs behind them, though they are perfectly still as if they were made of wax.  
  
The man-- _monster?_ notices Tyler. His eyes are almost completely black and are rimmed with a deep, true scarlet, the same color as his lips, as if all the color in his body was concentrated in those three points.  
  
Tyler is prey. Tyler is prey. He has no claws, no teeth, equipped with no instinct but to _run_ , and he is trapped inside a fenced garden he cannot burrow out of fast enough. So he stays there, completely frozen on hutch's roof save for his hammering heart. This beast will consume him.  
  
The beast walks slowly, light on its feet like it doesn't want to disturb the oppressive silence that has fallen over the house. Tyler expected the creature to move and hunt like a wolf, crashing through whatever stood in its way and swallowing its victims whole, but no. It's a fox. It's a serpent. That frightens Tyler more.  
  
The beast stops about a foot from the window and bends down, coming face-to-face with Tyler. At least its horrible chest is hidden from view in this position. Tyler's nose twitches. He can't smell the creature through the thin pane of glass, a final bastion between him and certain death, but he expects it to smell like blood and manure and hot, smelly fur.     
  
The beast reaches up to unlock the window, and oh, Tyler is going to be eaten alive and he is helpless to stop it.  
  
The windows swing inward and now Tyler can smell the beast. It smells nothing like Tyler expects it to-- like the wet soil surrounding the roots of an old tree and the sweet, musky scent of fallen fruit, so overripe their sugar ferments into dizzying alcohol.

"Hello," it says, like it expects Tyler to respond.  
  
Then again, this thing clearly isn't human. Its breath smells like fog and its voice is gentler than he expected. Perhaps it does understand rabbit.  
  
"I won't hurt you," it continues. "It's not your time yet."  
  
What was it talking about?  
  
"What?" Tyler dares to ask.  
  
"I'm not here for you," it says, holding out its hands. "Come, I'll take you to her."  
  
Tyler finally finds the strength to run. He leaps down to the ground and ducks into his hutch, because he doesn't know where else to hide, and he buries himself beneath his stale hay and prays that the beast finds him unworthy of the effort of lifting the hutch to grab him.  
  
The beast is in Jenna's room the next day as well. It doesn't seem intent on eating him, not yet, and he wants to see Jenna, so he musters up the courage to climb the woodpile and look inside again.  
  
This time, Jenna and the beast are not alone. Her parents are there, along with the doctor, who is administering liquid medicine from a dropper into Jenna's mouth. Her parents and the doctor stand over her bed, while the beast sits in the corner on the rocking chair Jenna liked to read in, once again going unnoticed by everyone in the room. How could none of them see it? Humans had horrifically dull senses, Tyler knew, but this was simply exceptional. The beast's legs, clothed in black trousers, are crossed, and it uses the foot planted on the ground to slowly rock itself, hands regally set on the armrests like the humble little chair was a throne, and the beast was watching over its pitiful kingdom. So what did that make Tyler?  
  
The doctor and Jenna's parents step outside to talk, and he can hear their voices, however muffled by the door. _Scarlet fever_ , he hears, though the words mean nothing substantial to him. Jenna is looking feverish and lethargic, eyes heavily lidded, and he can see her tongue working over the bitter remnants of the medicine inside her mouth. The beast still has its back to the window, watching Jenna.  
  
Truth be told, Tyler is curious. He's been doing absolutely _nothing_ for an entire week now, and he'd like some company. The beast seemed to understand what he says, which is more than he can say about the humans. It seemed kind. It has yet to harm Jenna, though its constant presence in her room was alarming. If it didn't intend to eat Tyler, was it planning to eat Jenna? Perhaps Tyler could offer himself as a sacrifice instead, though he knows he's small, even for a rabbit. Yes, that would be just fine if it meant saving Jenna. He must ask the beast what it wants.  
  
_Here goes nothing_ , he thinks, and he taps his little paws against the glass to get the beast's attention.  
  
The beast's ears are keen, sharper than that of a human's and perhaps even as good as a rabbit's. It turns its head, farther and farther until it reaches an unnatural angle like an owl and spots Tyler, little tawny Tyler, and grins. It's not an unkind smile as far as Tyler can tell, but its teeth show when it does and he can see every last one of his perfect, straight teeth. They're unusually sharp for something pretending to be human, but there are still plenty of flat molars and incisors.  
  
It stands up to approach the window, and this time Tyler is prepared for the grisly sight of its open chest, though he still tries to avoid looking at it.  
  
"You again," it says, and it opens the windows. The curtains flutter and Jenna shivers.  
  
"Close the windows," Tyler says, "Jenna's getting cold.  
  
"That's what her name is?" it asks. "Are you going to come inside as well?"  
  
"Yes, it is," Tyler says. He looks down, and sees that there's no way for him to safely land on the ground inside the room. The creature notices this and holds out its hand again.  
  
"I'll carry you inside," it offers.  
  
"Tell me what you want first," Tyler says. "I want to know if you're going to eat me."  
  
The creature seems genuinely confused. "Eat you? Why would I--"  
  
"I'm a rabbit," Tyler explains. "Everything wants to eat me."  
  
The creature lets out a little laugh at that. "Not everything. I don't eat-- not rabbits or people. Can I let you inside now?"  
  
"Not yet," Tyler insists. "Tell me why you're here if you're not going to eat anyone."  
  
"I'm here to harvest."  
  
"Harvest what?"  
  
"Souls. Jenna's time on this earth is almost over. It's my job to come and collect her and guide her to the afterlife."  
  
Wait. _Afterlife?_  
  
Tyler freezes, looking at Jenna. She's sitting upright on her own, breathing relatively easily. She can recover.  
  
"She's not going to die," Tyler says.  
  
"I can't control who lives and who dies," it says. "I just show up when the time is near. I'm not sure when she'll pass. I've been here longer than I normally am."  
  
"No," Tyler says, trying not to get choked up, "you can't have her."

"I don't keep her. I just deliver--"

"You can't kill her! That's just as bad as eating her!"  
  
Tyler hops away from the windowsill, onto the top of his hutch and then onto the ground. He scampers away from the house, as far away as he can. He hides in the farthest rose bush in the east corner, peering out from between the leaves to watch the house despite leaving it in a huff. The beast is still there, looking right at him, disfigured chest exposed to the cool October air. After a few seconds, it gives up and closes the windows, drawing the pale pink curtains. Tyler shudders and turns around, choosing to sulk and stare out at the street for the rest of the day.  
  
Night falls. He doesn't want to go back to his hutch or anywhere near the house. But the ground here under the bush is too dirty and hard for his liking, so he lopes back across the yard and into his hutch, sullen as he flops down onto the bedding. Jenna's father had come and replaced the hay earlier in the afternoon, and the sweet, dry grass provides him some comfort.  
  
His enjoyment of the hay is quickly ruined, however, when he hears footsteps outside his hutch. Something big knocks on the roof, and the bit of grass he had been chewing drops out of his mouth.  
  
"Salutations-- can I come in?" the beast asks, and Tyler can hear the teasing smile in its voice.  
  
"Go away," Tyler says. "Get your own friends. Me and Jenna are already together."  
  
"I can't," the beast says, and through the low entrance Tyler can see that it's sitting down cross-legged in front of the hutch. Tyler is trapped inside. "I have to stay here until she dies, Tyler. That's just my job."  
  
"Why is it your job?" Tyler demands. "Why couldn't you have been-- I don't know, a gardener instead? This is horrible work."  
  
"What would the world be like if everyone was a gardener?" it asks, and Tyler gets the feeling that he's not supposed to answer that. "We'd have a whole lot of flowers. But not a lot of room for new ones."  
  
Tyler doesn't respond. The creature seems unfazed and continues.  
  
"I guess I am a gardener. If people were flowers and leaves, then I'm the one who prunes them and rakes them away and keeps everything neat. You like gardens, don't you, Tyler?"  
  
"How do you know my name?"  
  
"Jenna talks about you when she sleeps. I think she misses you."  
  
The thought breaks Tyler's heart. He wants to see her and reassure her, and promise her that there'll be many more days of reading books under the tree, but he knows she won't be able to understand his language.  
  
"I can take you to her, if you want," the creature says. "I've offered to do that several times before. I don't know why you refuse."  
  
"I don't trust you," Tyler says. "I think I have good reason not to."  
  
"How can I get you to trust me?"  
  
"I don't-- I don't know," Tyler says. "Tell me about yourself, or something."  
  
Josh shifts where he's sitting. "Oh, that I can manage," he says. "My name is Joshua. But I'd prefer it if you just called me Josh. I'm not a fancy person. I used to be a stray dog, before I became a reaper."  
  
A dog. Tyler thought he moved more like a cat.  
  
"But if you were a dog," Tyler begins, "then why do you look like a man?"  
  
"I don't look like a person-- people look like me. This is what all immortal souls look like, animal and human. Do you know the Bible? God made humans special. He fashioned their physical bodies after Himself, the biggest soul. That's why their senses are so dull. They're born closer to the next world than we are. But after death, we're all equal."  
  
"Don't talk about me dying, please," Tyler says, settling deeper into his hay.  
  
"It's going to happen one day, you know. Might as well face that."  
  
"Do you know when?"  
  
"No. I never do."  
  
"Then why are you here?"  
  
"I just get a feeling, and then I appear where I'm needed. It's convenient, really."  
  
Tyler pauses, trying to think of what to say next.  
  
"Does she _have_ to die?" he asks.  
  
"Yes. I told you earlier, with the leaves. If you didn't get rid of the old things, the new things would never have a chance to grow."  
  
"She's only eight years old," Tyler scoffs, "how is that old?"  
  
"Mayflies live for only a day."  
  
"But humans live for sixty years. That's not a fair analogy."  
  
"And you only live for three. Maybe it's better that she'll never get to see you pass. You're very much like a man, did you know that, Tyler?"  
  
"Why?" Tyler asks, though he really wants to keep arguing with Josh about his lifespan.  
  
"You can see me. Your soul is very astute, the way usually only humans are, and even then, very few of them can see spirits, much less reapers."  
  
"I wish I couldn't," Tyler said. "Then I wouldn't have to know she was dying. And I wouldn't have to look at you."  
  
"There's beauty in death, Tyler. I promise there is."  
  
"I've yet to see it," Tyler grumbles, and he flops over, back to the entrance.  
  
"Come on," Josh says. "Come out and look at me. I'm self-conscious, Tyler, I don't want you to think I'm ugly."  
  
"Fine," Tyler says, knowing that he won't leave him alone until he does.

He crawls out of his hutch to look at Josh. He's still sitting cross-legged on the damp grass, and his chest is still wide open. He's been plucking flowers and leaves from their bed and tucking them between his ribs and in the crevices of his organs, as if he's trying to cover up his grisliness for Tyler.  
  
"Not so bad, right?" Josh asks, and sticks the clover Tyler had been planning on eating in between his heart and his left lung. The wastefulness frustrates him.  
  
Tyler turns his focus to Josh's face and arms. They're less frightening than his chest, and if he ignores the wound there, he could almost appreciate Josh, the way he appreciates magnificent trees and migrating swans. His eyes are large and dark and rimmed with red, and they're almost beautiful, like two congealing drops of blood staining a white wall.  
  
"You're still a reaper," Tyler says, "and I'm still pretty sure you're going to eat me."  
  
"Can I pet you?" Josh asks, holding out a hand. It's larger and more square than Jenna's, stained green with chlorophyll, and he doesn't trust it.  
  
"No."

Josh puts his hand away.

"I can see your soul, you know. Inside your body," he says, like that's supposed to comfort him. "I'm sure you'll live a little while more, Tyler, you're healthy."

"Thanks, I guess," Tyler says, and he retreats back into his hutch, kicking plenty of hay on front of the entrance so Josh can't bother him anymore. 

* * *

Tyler wakes up early the next morning to the sound of someone dragging the rocking chair out of its corner, the curved legs skidding against the hardwood floor. Then comes the flapping of paper. Jenna's mother must be reading to her again. He stares at the wall of his hutch. Josh had disappeared after he started to ignore him, leaving a little pile of plucked vegetation in front of his hutch, which Tyler refused to eat after seeing them touching his organs. Maybe he was gone for good.  
  
"Then the wolf, having satisfied his hunger in swallowing Little Red Riding Hood and her grandmother, lay down again in the bed, went to sleep, and began to snore loudly," he hears Josh say.  
  
Tyler's ears twitch. He's-- he's reading to her. He's finishing the story. He clambers out of his hutch and climbs on top of it to see what's going on.  
  
Josh has dragged the chair out until it was less than a foot from Jenna's bed. Jenna is asleep, giving no indication that she's hearing anything Josh is saying. The storybook is in his lap, open on a page where Tyler can see a colored illustration of the wolf in the grandmother's clothes, resting in her bed.  
  
"The huntsman heard him as he was passing by the house, and thought, "How the old woman snores-- I had better see if there is anything the matter with her," Josh continues. "Then he went into the room, and walked up to the bed, and saw the wolf lying there. "At last I find you, you old sinner!" said he; "I have been looking for you for a long time." And he made up his mind that the wolf had swallowed the grandmother whole, and that she might yet be saved. So he did not fire, but took a pair of shears and began to slit up the wolf's body."  
  
Tyler's stomach turns at the thought of the gruesome process, and turns again when he remembers that it's Josh who's reading this to her. His ears flatten against his head.  
  
"When he made a few snips, Little Red Riding Hood appeared, and after a few more snips she jumped out and cried, "Oh dear, how frightened I have been! It is so dark inside the wolf." And then out came the old grandmother, still living and breathing."  
  
Tyler snuffles, glad that both the girl and her grandmother had been saved from the pain of the wolf. There is more to the story, but Jenna turns over onto her back and begins another coughing fit, gasping helplessly for air. Josh closes the book and stands up, pushing back the chair.  
  
Tyler's heart freezes. This is the moment, isn't it? Where he takes her soul. Despair wells up in his chest as he leans over her, and-- and--  
  
Kisses her.

Jenna stops coughing, her breathing stopping altogether with a small sigh. Josh's lips are barely brushing hers as he leans over her sickly form, and when he pulls back, another Jenna emerges from her body like an insect from a cocoon, still attached to him by the lips. She's floating like she weighs nothing, and Josh grabs hold of her shoulders and sets her down on the ground.  
  
Her soul's eyes blink open and she looks left and right, then up at Josh. She pays no mind to the gaping hole in his chest, and no words are exchanged between them as she takes his hand. He leads her out of her bedroom and Tyler, with growing panic, loses sight of them. He hears no footsteps, he has no idea where they are until the back door opens a few feet away. Josh is walking with Jenna, still holding hands, and now Josh bends his knees and leaps into the air, Jenna following, and they disappear into the cloudy grey sky.

He didn't even have time to say goodbye.  
  
Tyler wants to cry out for her to come back, but rabbits are silent creatures by design. Instead, he slumps on top of the hutch, blinking sadly at nothing, refusing to look at Jenna's still corpse in her bed.

 

**III: Forest**

Humans wear black when they bury their loved ones. Tyler watches from the garden as the people come with a coffin to carry Jenna's body away, and her mother spots Tyler watching from the windowsill. She turns away, weeping into her handkerchief as her husband looks on, wiping away his own tears.

The clouds burn away as the day progresses, and the sun is blazing gold in the sky by the time Jenna's parents return for the evening. Tyler isn't familiar with human burial rites and he doesn't know if they've buried her yet or not. Either way, the thought is unbearable. He stays in his hutch, halfheartedly nibbling at shoots of grass.

The fury he feels at Josh for taking Jenna away is just as strong as the sense of grief that permeates his entire consciousness. Josh never came back after disappearing into the sky with Jenna, and Tyler has no idea if he'll ever return. He hopes he doesn't.

Jenna's father enters the garden the next evening, stopping in front of his hutch. Tyler looks up at him but pays him no more notice. The man takes off his gloves and puts them in the pocket of his jacket and scoops Tyler up, careful to support his back. Where was he taking him?

"Sorry 'bout this," he says as he exits the garden. "The wife can't bear having you around."

Is it because he reminds them of Jenna? That was fair. But where on earth is he going? Certainly not to the butcher's. Perhaps to another home? Tyler squirms in the man's grip and he secures his hold on his soft body, clutching him close to his chest. The warmth is comforting, though he smells different from Jenna and the proportions are very unfamiliar. His grip is stronger and his hands are coarser than Jenna's and the difference makes him miss her even more. 

They finally make it to the edge of town, at the border of the forest that surrounded the city. Oh no. Oh no.

Jenna's father puts Tyler down on the ground.

"Go on, shoo," he says, waving a hand at the woods. "You're free now, come on."

Tyler doesn't want to shoo. He wants to stay in the garden, as painful as the memories might be, because at least there he would be fed and sheltered and not at the mercy of every fox and owl in the woods. 

Her father turns away and starts to leave, and Tyler hops after him. He stops and looks at Tyler.

"Come on," he says, and he picks up a pebble from the ground and halfheartedly tosses it at him. Tyler gets the message. He sits in the grass, ears swiveling as he tries to detect any danger. None so far. He watches the man as he retreats back towards the road, disappearing into the fog.

Nightjars sing in the trees. The late-fall wind whistles through the last desiccated leaves in the trees, and Tyler shivers. He doesn't know what to do. Sadness and fear and anger all swirl inside of him until he can't tell one emotion from the next. 

"Salutations," a voice behind him says.

Tyler whips around to see Josh, looking as terrifying as ever, looming over him. He freezes, ears down, haunches tense.

"I'm not-- close to death, am I?" he dares ask.

Josh looks around him and shrugs. "You never learned how to survive on your own."

The small accusation is the final straw, and the floodgates holding back oceans of grief open and he spits.

"I hate you," Tyler says with as much venom as a rabbit can manage. "I _hate_ you, Josh. We're all miserable because she's gone. What good did that do? Are you happy?"

"She's in heaven, Tyler," Josh says. "And yes, I'm happy because _she_ is, happier than she's ever been on earth."

That... hurt. Was he not good enough? Tyler's paws shuffle on the grass, suddenly feeling very small. Josh realizes what he had implied and backtracks.

"I didn't mean it like that, Tyler," he says. "I'm sorry. I meant that she was free of the suffering she'd experience otherwise with her sickness. Sometimes, it _is_ better to be dead."

"I don't see what you mean," Tyler says, resentment bubbling in his stomach. He refuses to thump his foot, but it's tempting.

"You will," Josh says, and Tyler hates how smug he is.

"You say that because I'm going to die soon, right?" he says. "That's why you're here. To take my soul. Fine. You can have it right now. I don't want to live anymore if it's going to be like _this_."

He flops over onto his side in defeat.

"I'm here for a number of reasons, Tyler," Josh says. "One of them being that I don't want you to hate me. I don't want you to die not understanding my place in the universe."

"Like I need to learn."

"I've existed for two hundred years. You've only been around for one."

"So?"

Is Tyler being petulant? Yes. Did he care? No.

Josh sighs, and his lungs inflate and deflate in his exposed chest. "Alright," he says. "Go live in the forest. Make something of your life."

Tyler doesn't move.

Josh bends down and his scent blends with the forest around them. He scoops one hand beneath Tyler's small body and lifts him up, cradling him with the other. Tyler is too resigned to care. Josh carries him like Jenna's father carried him, and together they walk into the forest.

Tyler is facing forward, so he doesn't have to look at Josh's mutilated chest. It's almost completely dark, but Josh has no trouble navigating over the knotted roots and around the large, dark stones that line the forest floor. Josh doesn't have any heat in his body, and he feels like air made into flesh. Solid but somehow insubstantial in the mortal plane. Tyler lets himself be carried.

They come to a stop underneath a big tree, Josh sitting down and resting his back against the rough trunk. He sets Tyler down onto his lap and starts stroking him, rubbing his front paws and scratching between his long ears, and Tyler is intimately reminded of all those days with Jenna in her backyard. If he closes his eyes, he can pretend that Josh is Jenna and that everything is okay.

He falls asleep, and he dreams of being inside Josh's ribcage, staring out at the world as they travel together. Someone stabs Josh with a knife and splits Josh's ribs open with strong hands. The hunter's face was revealed when his bones gave way, and Tyler could see Jenna's father. Tyler stays inside Josh's chest.

* * *

Josh is gone when Tyler wakes up in a bush the next morning. He's hungry and dirty. Experimentally, he nibbles at the leaves of the bush he's hidden in and promptly spits it out. Bitter.

Tyler soon finds out that he's terrible at foraging. He's afraid to bite into a new plant for fear that it might be poisonous, and he tries to stay in the tall grass of a clearing or in the bushes near the edge to stay safe, because he can see hawks circling around, high in the sky, and if he listens closely, he can hear the soft footfalls of a fox trying to sneak up on him.

He can feel Josh watching him. He can't see him, he can't hear him, but he can feel his presence hanging like a stormcloud, an ominous promise that his life will be short. Did Josh stalk everyone like this?

He comes across a small stream. Grateful for the water, he delicately lowers his head to the cool water and drinks. There is birdsong above him.

He hears a rustling further off and he pauses, looking around for a threat. There's a fox about twenty feet off on the other side of the stream, sneaking up on a wild turkey. Tyler's heart drops. Oh no.

Tyler blinks and Josh appears, standing in the middle of the stream, which barely reaches his calves, waiting.

The fox pounces and the turkey goes down in a flash of wings and terrified squawking. Revulsion stirs in Tyler's chest as he hears the turkey's bones break, blood staining the fox's white mask. Josh steps forward, invisible to the fox, and leads away a small human-looking woman from the turkey's tattered corpse. Tyler is left on the bank of the stream to watch the fox eat, praying for it to drag off its kill and leave so he can run off.

The fox doesn't leave, and that gives him plenty of time to observe it. He realizes how thin it was-- its limbs are like twigs and its ribs are visible, its normally-silky coat drab. The fox probably would have died of starvation if it hadn't killed and eaten the turkey. Ravenous, it tears into the dead bird, feathers coming loose and blowing into the stream, filling Tyler's water with dark brown feathers. Tyler starts to understand something.

Josh came back that evening to sleep. Tyler didn't have a burrow and the ground was too cold to dig one, and he would have been stuck with sleeping out in the air if Josh didn't return that evening. He doesn't want to sleep with him, his chest is so unnerving and he still feels a sliver of something stubborn catching in his heart whenever he considers acquiescence, but he's warm compared to the rest of the woods and predators stay away.

Josh lays down against a rock, curling into a tight circle. He wants Tyler to sleep in the middle, right next to his disfigured chest.

"There's nothing to worry about," Josh assures him. "If I wanted to eat you, I would have done it already."

"That's not what I'm worried about," Tyler says, tucking his paws under his body to preserve heat.

"You saw that fox," Josh says. "I want you to understand-- I'm not the wolf, Tyler. I'm the hunter." 

Tyler wishes he didn't understand. He doesn't sleep near Josh's chest but he lets Josh's arms curl protectively around him-- prolonging his life even as he waits for Tyler to die. Tyler isn't sure why Josh bothers. Josh strokes his back with even, gentle fingers, and the sensation is soothing.

He survives another cold night.

Josh reappears later in the afternoon when Tyler is nibbling through a patch of plants. Tyler stops eating a shoot and looks up at him.

"Why are you here?" Tyler asks, looking around him to see if he could spot a fox or an owl.

"You're getting close to eating this belladonna," Josh says, rubbing a leaf between his fingers. "It's poisonous."

Tyler doesn't know what belladonna is.

"Why are you telling me?" he asks.

Josh shrugs and plucks a toxic berry, popping it into his mouth. His heart turns purple and the veins on his lungs stand out, dark red, before fading.

Josh is holding a book when he comes back to Tyler that night. This time, Josh settles down beneath a great tree, back against the trunk, his knees folded up to support the book. Tyler peers out from a bush he had been grooming himself in and recognizes the cover and the smell of the paper as Josh turns its pages. It was the story Jenna had been reading to him, and the one Josh continued for her before she died. His chest aches at the sight of the thin, red hardcover.

"The story doesn't end with the little girl and her grandmother coming free, you know," Josh says. "Can you read?"

"No," Tyler says.

"I'll read the rest of it to you, then."

"You don't have to. It wasn't that bad of an ending."

"But it wasn't the real ending. You have to see everything. Come out, I'll read to you."

Tyler liked it when Jenna read to him, and Josh has a pleasant voice for someone with a mutilated chest. He hops out of his bush. Josh offers his lap to Tyler, but he refuses and instead perches at Josh's feet, bare and covered with dirt like his own. They wiggle, nudging Tyler's soft belly.

"It must also be related how a few days afterwards," he begins, "when Little Red Riding Hood was again taking cakes to her grandmother, another wolf spoke to her, and wanted to tempt her to leave the path; but she was on her guard and went straight on her way, and told her grandmother how that wolf had met her, and wished her good day, but had looked so wicked about the eyes that she thought if it had not been on the high road, he would have devoured her."

Tyler tucks his paws further under his body, pressing his ears flat to preserve heat. The thought of the wolf makes him feel even colder now that he's in the woods. An owl shrieks off in the distance. Josh doesn't seem to notice the cold or the danger at all as he flips the page.

"After that, the wolf slunk around the house and at last got on the roof to wait until Little Red Riding Hood should return home in the evening; then he meant to spring down upon her and devour her in the darkness," Josh says. "But the grandmother discovered his plot. Now there stood before the house a great stone trough, and the grandmother sad to the child, "Little Red Riding Hood, I was boiling sausages yesterday, so take the bucket and carry away the water they were boiled in, and pour it into the trough." and Little Red Riding Hood did so until the great trough was quite full. When the smell of the sausages reached the nose of the wolf, he snuffed it up, and looked round, and stretched out his neck so far that he lost his balance and began to slip, and he slipped down off the roof straight into the great trough and was drowned. Then Little Red Riding Hood went cheerfully home and came to no harm. That's the end of the story."

He closes the book and sets it aside with little fanfare, sitting upright and folding his legs, rubbing his hands over his bent kneecaps.

"She became a hunter, didn't she?" Tyler asks, following Josh's legs as they retract. He's colder than he'd like to admit. Frost is forming on the tree trunks as they speak. "The little girl. It seemed like she did."

Josh nods. "The scholars say it's a bildungsroman. A coming-of-age story. Aren't you cold?"

"No. And what scholars do you talk to? You're a reaper."

"I'm free to explore the world however I like," Josh says. "Lots of people die in libraries. And you're a rabbit, what do _you_ know about scholars?"

Tyler shivers at his morbid words and ignores them. "Jenna read to me a lot," he explains. "But you'd think the wolves would be smart enough to try another way to trick her."

He flops onto his side. He doesn't feel _safe_ , per se, but certainly less alert and afraid of the forest with Josh's presence along with the familiarity of the story. If Josh were a little warmer, a little blonder, he might have considered letting Josh hold him. He lets out a puff of air, turning into a little white ghost that floats through the cold before dissipating.

"Pain doesn't change," Josh says, and his head is tucking into his chin like he intends to sleep. He closes his eyes, and begins to softly snore after some time.

Tyler doesn't sleep, not yet. The trees are largely bare, and the waxing moon shines clear in the sky, illuminating Josh's face. He always looks peaceful, but he looks dead when he sleeps, and if Tyler had come across him in the woods, not knowing him, he might have mistaken him for an unfortunate traveler that had frozen to death.

Tyler lopes up to him and tucks himself into his body, where Josh's heel meets his haunch. Josh doesn't move when he sleeps, and Tyler's makeshift shelter holds through the night, until he wakes up the next morning to see him gone.

Tyler survives another day. And another. And another. His paws become a sooty brown and no amount of cleaning can clear it away. His teeth are worn short and his eyes and ears sharpen even more. He doesn't see Josh again. He's gone from a threatening thunderhead to a shy songbird; Tyler knows he follows in the branches and the air, but he rarely allows himself to be seen.

Right now, Tyler sits between two rocks in salt lick and watches a doe trot in, licking the salty rocks with a large tongue. It's peaceful. There are no sign of predators and his only company is the deer, fat from gorging herself during the fall in preparation for winter.

Tyler scrapes a bit of frost off a stone for water. It's brackish. He's hungry. He misses Jenna. And in some twisted way, he misses Josh, who hadn't made an appearance in some days. He was by himself, save for the deer.

A gunshot rings out, and the deer wobbles and falls, a bloody hole burrowed right between its eyes.

Tyler freezes in place, sniffing the air. There's acrid gunpowder, and the tangy smell of wet dogs. A hunter.

He hears the baying of dogs farther off, and Tyler knows that he must run. He darts off through the underbrush, disturbing dry foliage as he goes and makes loud crashing sounds whenever his paws hit the ground. He curses himself for not being more subtle and hopes the hunter is satisfied with the deer.

He isn't.

He hears the crashing of the barking dogs coming through the trees as he runs, runs faster than he ever has in his life, ears pressed flat to his head as he darts around rocks and trees, feeling Josh's eyes on him the whole time. Then comes the louder, thunderous footfalls of the hunter himself, and, more faintly, he can hear the cocking of a gun. _Must they bother with the gun?_ he thinks hysterically. Just one of those hounds could kill him with a strong wrench of his neck. He narrowly dodges a root, which puts a little more distance between him and the dogs.

He doesn't know where he's going, and Tyler knows he'll be hopelessly lost in the forest if he survives this. His paws ache as he slams them against the hard-packed dirt, lungs burning, heart hammering, eyes widening until the white ring around his iris is visible. The dogs are getting closer now, and he can hear their panting above the sound of their footfalls. He doesn't want to die. He doesn't want to die. _He doesn't want to die._

There is a steep incline, and Tyler races up, slipping on loose leaves as he ascends. He hears the hunter curse as he nears the crest of the hill. Hope blooms inside his chest. Perhaps the hunter will give up.

There is a distant _pap!_ and a sharp sting in his haunch, and his hind left leg no longer obeys him. 

He screams the way only rabbits and men can, a horrific swan-song that echoes through the trees, body catching on branches and bouncing against the frozen ground as his leg gives out beneath him. His hot blood, steaming in the cold, begins to gush from his shattered leg. They reach the top of the hill, which turns out to be a small cliff. Tyler, unable to stop himself, tumbles forward and plummets down the side, feeling his stomach swoop at the steep fall. His head hits a sharp rock and his eye bursts. He can no longer sense the dogs or the hunter nearby, who remain at the top of the hill, the dogs barking at the scent of blood. He rolls and rolls and rolls, feeling more blood seep from his wounded haunch, bursting with pain every time he makes impact with the ground.

Tyler hits a tree trunk and stops dead. He can't move. He's in so much pain. His fragile spine has snapped and the leg that was shot had been completely shattered from the large bullet. It twitches erratically, sending jolts of pain up his spine every time it does. The blood from his ruined eye is trickling across his face, soaking and freezing on his fur. He can't move, and he can hardly form thoughts. He can only gasp and stare up at the tree and the cliff he fell from.

The birds, who had fallen silent at the disturbance, begin to sing again, and the sounds swim and echo in his head.

He hears footsteps behind him. He can't turn around but he knows who it is. He tries to communicate but finds that he doesn't have the strength, not now. Josh is going to have to do all the talking.

"Tyler," he says, his voice almost a croon as he stands over his broken body. He's little more than a sweet-smelling silhouette against the light. Josh kneels down until he's a foot away from Tyler, on his hands and knees as he studies his pain closely. Tyler's whole body is wracked with pain when Josh gently touches his side with careful fingers, but he can't move.

Tyler takes one labored breath, two, three, and finally manages to speak.

"Josh," he says, and when he inhales he feels that his delicate ribs have been broken and are quickly filling with blood.

"It's time. I'm here to take your soul, Tyler," Josh says with his foggy breath, and his voice is no higher than a whisper. Tyler is grateful. His head hurts too much to bear anything louder. He accepts it. He understands-- in the pain, he understands fully. Josh is not the wolf.

"Tyler, do you-- I want to offer you something," he says, and he actually sounds nervous. "A job. My job. You can be a reaper, I can make you one. Do you want to hunt with me?"

Tyler takes a moment to process this, his head cloudy from the pain and the loss of blood. He thinks about it. Yes, he wants to. He understands and he wants to understand it _more_.

"Please," Tyler rasps. "Please. Kill me."

Josh nods and breathes in, then out. Tyler blinks, and when his eyes open again, Josh has become a large, wolf-like dog with a hollow chest and a sleek, black coat. He blinks at Tyler, and Tyler finds no hunger in his eyes. He can only see compassion as Josh's mouth parts, revealing straight, sharp teeth. Tyler smells fog and soil and overripe fruit as he comes closer and breathes in his space, slowly folding his powerful jaws around Tyler's neck. His neck is warm with Josh's breath, the tip of his tongue wetting his fur, and the pointed ends of his teeth poke into his hide. He can feel the tension in Josh's body shifting as he prepares to bite, and Tyler closes his eyes.

Josh breaks his neck.

 

**IV: Reapers**

Tyler is not warm or cold. He is not up or down. He is not anywhere.

Slowly, he begins to see. The whiteness fades from his vision and he can begin to make out the details of the forest around him. He feels weightless in a way he never did before. His neck stings, though the pain, along with every other ache, is fading.

"Tyler?" he hears. "Tyler."

Tyler turns and sees Josh's face nary a foot away from his. He's human again. There's an expectant look on his face, and Tyler realizes that he's at eye level with him, even though they're both standing. He looks down at himself and sees tanned hands and a torso and legs and feet-- all human. Or, rather, all immortal soul.

"I never thought you'd look like this," Josh says, and his dark eyes are shining and reverent as he reaches out to cup Tyler's cheek. "You're beautiful."

Tyler doesn't know what his face looks like. He trusts that Josh is telling the truth. Josh's hand trails a little lower, past his jaw, and that's when Tyler feels Josh's hand dip _into_ his neck. Shocked, he reaches up with his strange new hand and touches his throat, fingers bumping against Josh's. The skin has been peeled away, revealing his trachea and the tendons rooting his head to his collarbones. All his other injuries are gone, his body smooth and hairless and free of scars.

"It's your mark," Josh explains, rubbing his own open chest. "You need a mercy kill to make a reaper. A kiss would have just harvested your soul."

"What happened to you?" Tyler asks, feeling his throat vibrate as he spoke.

"A rabid dog tore my jaw off," Josh says. "He took my eye and disemboweled me. So a reaper ripped out my heart."

Tyler nods, eyes wandering to his dead body at the base of the tree. His small, furry limbs are contorted in painful directions and his body is soaked in blood. His neck is twisted backwards where Josh put him out of his misery. Suddenly he was very glad to be free of his body.

"What do we do now?" Tyler asks. "Do I bury myself?"

Josh shakes his head. "Don't touch it. Performing a formal burial will keep you in heaven. Reapers go everywhere."

Tyler stoops down to touch his corpse. It's cold and still and already beginning to freeze in the bitter cold. Josh was right about not letting Jenna see him like this.

Jenna. He could see her again.

"I can visit heaven, right?" Tyler asks. "I want to see Jenna."

Josh sees the eagerness in his eyes and nods. "We can do that right now."

"Will she recognize me?" Tyler asks, stalling as Josh takes his hand. "I don't look-- I don't look the same."

"She will," and Josh pulls Tyler's hands up to press his lips to it. "I promise she will." 

Tyler trusts Josh. He maneuvers his new, strange hands until their ten fingers are intertwined tightly.

They leap into the air and disappear, leaving nothing behind but the mutilated corpse of a rabbit, dusted in a light layer of the winter's first snow.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was inspired by tumblr user [tomorrowofyesterday's art.](http://tomorrowforyesterday.tumblr.com/post/153959877329/two-of-my-latest-digital-drawings)
> 
> [ And here, have a playlist. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch_videos?video_ids=6_kCpzMJ1Wo,NDHY1D0tKRA,LqXJ6ssJxPc,BKmU9sIb_uw,h3lWwMHFhnA,C7mskOFB9os,l3dUr54Xmnc,5XYFcIioIcU,Hl-fALgJyaM,_xVWJXyK9x4)
> 
> I finished this in 18 hours, and I am so Tired. But I hope you enjoyed this work! Any feedback would be greatly appreciated, thank you!


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